


Slip Away

by SaraJaye



Category: The Tillerman Cycle - Cynthia Voigt
Genre: Backstory, Bitterness, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Gen, Loneliness, Loss, Marriage, Pre-Canon, Sad Ending, Verbal Abuse, death of a child
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-27
Updated: 2015-08-27
Packaged: 2018-04-17 13:57:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4669160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaraJaye/pseuds/SaraJaye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He promised her the world and a wonderful life the day they were married, and she believed him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slip Away

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Missy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy/gifts).



He chose her. So many girls vying for John Tillerman's attention, and she was the one he picked for his bride. Abigail Logan studied her reflection in her full-length mirror; the wedding dress her grandmother's, the diamond brooch borrowed from her mother, the shoes new and her bouquet with blue lilies.

Such an _idiotic_ superstition, she thought with a frown. And who were Mother and Priscilla to insist upon it when it was _her_ wedding? She'd been so close to victory only to give in when Priscilla started _begging_ , and she'd only done it to shut her up. Simpering, maudlin fool.

Still, she thought with a smile, she looked beautiful. She'd never put much stock in her appearance but she was pleased with it this morning. She was a _bride,_ after all, every girl's dream and even she couldn't deny it was a special feeling.

A bride. _John's_ bride, she thought, unable to stop a gleeful laugh from escaping her. She spun around once, indulging in one last girlish joy before she heard Mother call.

Father gave her away, and she promised to love, honor and obey as he promised to love and care for her. When John lifted the veil and kissed her, the church erupted in peals of joy.

"I'll give you a good life, Abby," John said as he carried her into the house that night. His arms were strong, his smile promised many things and she felt like the luckiest girl alive.

 

John Jr. was born in the second year of their marriage. Johnny, she called him, to avoid confusion between father and son.

John took fairly well to fatherhood. He didn't fawn over the boy as Abigail might have imagined, but he was very attentive; he read to Johnny, spoke to him in adult tones and plain sentences, talked about the fine education his son would have.

"He'll probably just take over the farm for us someday, but he'll have the best business sense to run it with!" Abigail smiled, watching Johnny play with his wooden blocks on the floor beside them as she put the last touches on the sweater she'd started making as soon as she'd become pregnant.

"Unless he decides to skip town and be a doctor or a lawyer," she said with a snicker. John was silent for a moment, his eyes set and sharp before he turned to her with a grin of his own.

"Well, then," he said, "you and I'll just have to make him some brothers and sisters!" He scooped her up in his arms and onto his lap, pulling her in for a kiss. _Luckiest wife in the world._

 

When Liza was born, John took just as much of an interest in her as he had in Johnny. Liza, though, wasn't as sharp or driven a child as her older brother. She was softer, more sensitive and as she grew older she was quick to become lost in her own world. She loved to sing, too; as soon as she could talk Abigail would hear her trying to sing along with the radio.

"She's not gonna be a professional singer," John said. "I've done enough reading to know a famous person's life isn't all that great. She can sing for the choir once she goes to school." Abigail raised an eyebrow.

"And what if she _wants_ to go into the business? Children eventually have minds of their own, John." It was true, too. Johnny was already reading everything, just like his father, but he watched the Perry Mason show on TV all the time and he kept talking about being a lawyer. John was trying to come to grips with the possibility that his firstborn wouldn't take up the farm when they were both gone.

"Trust me, she won't. Liza'll be a smart girl, just like her brother," John said.

"Well...I suppose so," Abigail said. "And it _will_ be nice to have her help around the house once she's old enough." After all, the children were still young and they could easily change their minds as they grew.

Liza babbled along with Peter, Paul and Mary on the radio, and John smiled.

"She'll have a beautiful voice, though. I'm sure of that."

 

They slipped into a comfortable routine. John woke up at the same time every morning, Abigail did most of the household chores, Johnny and Liza pitching in as soon as they were old enough. John liked a clean house, liked the farm to be in good shape.

"We'll live well for the rest of our lives with all this," he'd say with a proud smile. Liza liked picking cucumbers and tomatoes, singing all the while. Johnny helped plant the seeds in neat rows, and both of them loved running up and down the fields with the watering can.

Sometimes John would spend most of his day tending to the farm. Or reading. He'd always been into reading, but lately it seemed to be his favorite thing in the world.

"I hope those books won't replace me as your true love," Abigail would tease. John only smiled, patted her hand and had her sit beside him as they read. It was comfortable, and there was nothing wrong with that.

Oh, she longed to go on vacations or day trips, to take a break from chores and farming. But they had many years ahead of them, and the children were still young. Someday, John would be managing the farm so well he could afford to take a day off. Someday they'd go places, see sights, experience new things.

_I'll give you a good life, Abby._

She'd believed him then, and she believed him now.

 

The farm didn't pull in as much money as they had hoped, and a hard winter froze the ground to the point where they couldn't start planting until the end of May.

"We'll do better next year," she said as John glanced bitterly over the remains of their poor crops. They could live on vegetables smaller than they ought to be with very little flavor, but no one wanted to buy yellow tomatoes or shriveled carrots. Money was tight, and the holidays wouldn't be as festive as they were used to.

"Hmph." John shook his head. "We'll see about that, I guess."

"But it was just one bad winter," Abigail said. "Next year could more than make up for it with a wonderful summer."

"No one can predict the weather," John said. "Even those so-called meteorologists don't know what they're talking about half the time! No, we should've known better when the Almanac said we'd be in for hard times. Should've sunk more money into savings."

He sounded angry. Abigail stepped a little closer, putting her hand on his tense shoulder.

"Dear, I really think-"

He pushed her hand away.

"I didn't ask what you _thought,_ Abigail," he said curtly, turning around and walking into the house.

It was the first time in years he'd called her by her full name. Abigail shrugged off the hurt and followed him inside to make some tea.

 

Samuel's birth was a joyous occasion, and John was fairly kind to him. But unlike the studious Johnny or the gentle Liza, Samuel developed a stubborn streak. The "terrible twos" were only the beginning; tantrums and sulking, refusing to eat his vegetables or go to bed. Sticking his jaw out and stamping his feet whenever he was told no.

She nicknamed him "Bullet" once he started to walk, as he took off like a shot and refused to slow down. Fiery, like gunpowder. John hated the nickname, but it stuck anyway.

The children got along well enough; they weren't instantly friends but Johnny tried to look after them while Liza tried to be soothing and Bullet made them smile and laugh. It wouldn't last, Abigail thought as she watched them. She'd never gotten along with Priscilla, and it got worse as they got older. Liza almost seemed to take after Priscilla in some ways; that moon-face, always trying to be so sweet and obedient.

Bullet was like her. The thought troubled her more than it amused her; John had admired her spark when they first fell in love, but he wouldn't tolerate it in his son. If Liza did become a singer, Bullet was the last hope for the farm.

She didn't see him becoming a farmer. But she didn't dare tell John.

 

The years ticked by, the children grew and John began to insist upon things he'd rarely given a second thought to. Dinner must be at 5:30 exactly, he wanted his shoes polished and the books in perfect order; the last one reached a point where he'd outright forbid the children from reading his books.

He became less tolerant of change. Everything had to be the same; work for him, chores for her, school for the children. If anything challenged his ways he'd become irritated at best and angry at worst.

Johnny started spending more and more time at the library, or with his friend David. He was obedient, but he did everything through clenched teeth, just to pacify his father. He started making plans for college halfway through his first year of high school.

Liza obeyed out of fear. One stern look from John had her scampering to her feet, rushing to do what she was told. Her grades in school suffered and while she was fairly well-liked, Abigail could sense pity in the expressions of the friends she brought home.

It was Bullet who fought. Every time John told him to do something, he would have a fit and refuse and it would take Abigail pulling him aside and asking him to do it for _her_. He was no "momma's boy", but he usually listened to her.

"They'll respond better if you don't shout so," she once tried to tell John, but he whirled around, told her to close her insolent mouth and stomped off to read his books.

They never did take any of those vacations.

The honeymoon wasn't just over, it may as well not have happened as far as he was concerned.

 

Johnny left home as soon as he graduated from high school. He'd been accepted to a good college out in the midwest, he planned to study law and maybe start a family.

"I'll write you every week, Momma, and I'll call every other day," he promised as she, Liza and Bullet saw him off. John had refused to come along, saying he needed to finish reading the paper. _Typical,_ Abigail thought, but by this point she wasn't surprised. Oh, she still tried to talk to him, still tried to appeal to his gentler side.

Sometimes it felt like she'd succeeded. He'd speak kindly to Liza, or tell Bullet he did a good job even when he did a chore sloppily. It never lasted, though.

"You come back and see us sometime, you hear, boy?" she said, tears in her eyes. Liza was crying, Bullet cracked half a smile as Johnny ruffled his hair.

"Thanksgiving, for sure. And Christmas!"

He kept those promises the first year, but the time between calls grew longer and longer. Letters came once a month, then once every three months. During his senior year he didn't come home for the holidays at all.

John barely cared. By that time the softer part of him had been long buried, never to surface again.

 

Liza took up with a young man named Francis when she was twenty-one. She'd taken to smiling all the time by then no matter how she felt. Singing and smiling, always. John tried to keep her at home, but she would just walk away and tell him when she'd be back.

Abigail and Bullet liked Francis well enough, or at least didn't hold much against him. He didn't have the best reputation, he was definitely a bit of a no-goodnick, but he kept Liza happy and away from John. He tried to be friends with Bullet. So Abigail couldn't bring herself to look down on him.

She certainly wasn't happy with either of them when Liza announced she was pregnant one night, though. Abigail's mind filled with worry; how would they raise and care for a child on a salary like Francis's? Liza didn't work, Abigail had her hands full with the farm and the ornery Bullet. And of course, John was angry. A pregnant unwed daughter wasn't just a blow to his precious routine, but a blow to his honor.

"Get out, and I don't want to see your face again until you're married!"

Liza didn't say anything for a moment. Abigail expected her to burst into tears or get angry. But the smile never left her face.

"I'll never marry. Not for as long as Francis and I live," she said sweetly as she turned around and walked out the door. Abigail clenched her fist as she fought back the protests burning on her tongue. _John, you insensitive-!_ But as always, she remained silent, watching her second-born walk out of their lives forever.

John made some kind of grunt, she couldn't tell whether he was satisfied or not as he sat down in his easy chair with yet another book. _Books never question him, books always do what's expected of them. Not like human beings, with feelings of their own._

Abigail walked towards the kitchen to finish putting away the dishes.

_I'll never marry._

Years ago, she would have thought Liza foolish, implored her to experience the joy Abigail thought marriage would bring to her. She remembered that sour face smiling as he lifted her up and spun her around, carried her to bed on their wedding night. Those dark eyes once gleaming as he promised her the world.

John could still be heard muttering angrily to himself from his precious chair, and Abigail clenched her hand into a fist.

"Good for you, Liza. Good for you."

 

With only Bullet left, things became more unbearable. He fought tooth and nail against everything his father said or did. Refusing to cut his hair, talking back, stomping around the house, spending more and more time away from the family.

What was left of it, anyway. Johnny had built a life of his own, a life where he was _the_ John Tillerman rather than just an offshoot of his father. Liza wrote letters but refused to visit home. She had a baby now, a little girl with a godawful name. She'd likely let Francis name the girl, Liza would have had better taste.

Mother and Father were long dead, of course, and she hadn't spoken to Priscilla in years. Priscilla had married, had a little girl of her own. Aside from the obligatory Christmas card she only wrote once in a while, to brag about her perfect little life with her big white house near the ocean.

_I want to see Aunt Cilla's big white house, Momma!_ Liza said every year. Even her pleading sounded like a song, and Abigail never had the heart to tell her it wasn't happening. She'd always say it was because John hated vacations, but deep down she was ashamed to let her sister see what had become of her storybook marriage.

_She'd pity me, and I don't need her pity._

Perhaps someday, when John was dead, she'd collect the children and take them on a vacation to that big white house.

 

"Whatever I've left behind is for you, okay, Momma?"

He was eighteen today. He'd dropped out of school and enlisted that morning, and he'd waited until John wasn't at home to say goodbye. _And then there were none,_ Abigail thought bitterly. Her youngest, her last baby, off to risk his life in some foolish war.

"What would I do with what you've left behind?"

"You'll think of something." Bullet gave her the barest hint of a smile before turning away. "But it's for you, you hear me?"

"I hear you." She swallowed. "You take care of yourself, boy."

"I will, Momma."

She watched him leave, biting her lip and grasping handfuls of her skirt in both hands. He was a man now, and if he wanted to risk his neck in a foolish war, it was his decision. As long as he came back alive and remembered to write home, what business of it was hers?

Abigail glanced down at Liza's most recent letter. She'd spoken to Johnny recently, but Johnny almost never wrote home anymore. And now Bullet was walking out of her life. Once that war was over he'd settle down somewhere as far away from home as possible, just to avoid his father. He'd call and write for a few months, just like the others, and then he'd stop.

Once again, she was filled with a silent rage towards her husband. _If you hadn't turned so hard and controlling, they would have stayed!_ But as always, she swallowed back her feelings. Telling John off now wouldn't bring the children home, and it certainly wouldn't make things better for either of them.

John would be home soon. Abigail sucked in her breath and went back to scrubbing the floor.

Months later, she got the call telling her that Samuel was dead. It was the last time that telephone would ever ring in the Tillerman house.

 

When John finally died, she was surprised at her own tears. For years she'd sat silently and let him drive their children away, seething but never doing anything to stop it. _I took vows,_ she would remind herself. _Love, honor, obey._ Sometimes she'd wished she could just _kill him_ for what he'd done, but in the end nature had taken care of it.

That night, she remembered their wedding, their honeymoon. The births of their children, John's smile, his hopes and dreams for their little family and that farm.

_His smile fading, John retreating more and more into his books, always needing to be right about everything. The children distancing themselves from him, then from her. Demands, routines, their happy home becoming a minefield._

As she turned out the light, she realized her tears had been of relief. Freedom, she thought. She didn't realize how it could feel.

 

_She's crazy,_ people began to say, and Abigail didn't argue. Maybe she was a little crazy. Most women, after losing their husband and all their children, they'd leave their homes and start a whole new life somewhere exotic. She could've done anything she wanted with the money left behind, even gone to France.

But something kept her on that farm. Maybe it was the memories of a time where John smiled, or a lingering sense of obligation to him. Maybe it was the lingering hope that Liza or Johnny would come home someday.

On some days, she let herself believe Samuel was alive. They'd reported the wrong man dead, he was still out there somewhere and one day he'd show up on her doorstep. _I'm back, Momma! What, you thought some war could take me out?_ Foolish dreaming, she knew it, but every now and then she'd indulge herself.

The farm stagnated, the house grew older. Honeysuckle vines covered almost every inch of the front siding. She barely cared.

 

_Where do you see yourself in thirty years, Abby?_ He'd asked her once, on one of their outings, and she'd smiled and said she didn't know. When you were young, you didn't think much of the future, just thought everything would stay the same forever.

Back then, she'd thought they'd love each other forever. Back then she'd looked forward to their wedding day, hadn't cared what the future brought them as long as they were together.

No woman ever pictured herself alone, her children all gone, her husband dead and half a lifetime of regret hanging over her. But here she was.

Abigail pulled her shawl tightly around her, leaning against the rickety old door.

"But it's better this way," she said to no one in particular. You tried to hold onto someone, they slipped away. You tried to let them go, they didn't come back. Life taught her good, hadn't it? Love, family...in the end, you'd just lose everything.

Somewhere, she thought she heard singing. But it was just her imagination, she thought as she walked back inside and shut the door behind her.

**Author's Note:**

> The backstory we're given in the books paints John Tillerman as a controlling, borderline abusive father and husband. But a line in Dicey's Song says there were a lot of girls pining for him, and a lot of tears when he chose Abigail. Abigail doesn't strike me as the type to go starry-eyed over someone just for their looks, so I guessed he wasn't such a bad guy when they were first married. Maybe even a kinder person. Then life got hard, so did he, and by the end he was a whole different person. And a kind person turning sour and hard can be even more tragic than one kind person suffering under a hard one.
> 
> Not much is said about John Jr. in Dicey's Song aside from that one recent wedding announcement, but I headcanon him as becoming a lawyer to break away from his father's aspirations for the whole family.


End file.
